


roadhouses

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Bonding, Drinking, Gen, Implied Dale Cooper/Harry Truman (Twin Peaks), Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Diane’s breath caught, was sucked into her lungs as selfishly as she dragged in the smoke and nicotine of her cigarettes. “What the hell happened out here, Denise?”





	roadhouses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



“The bars here aren’t much,” Denise said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she dropped a pair of glasses onto the table. They were low-slung, already perspiring, the ice melting into the rich dark liquid inside. She probably should’ve grabbed some napkins, but the Roadhouse didn’t look like the kind of place that cared much about water rings left behind on their scratched wooden tables, so she chose to ignore the impulse. “But they’ve got it where it counts.”

Diane stared up at her, venom in her gaze, cigarette hanging from her lips. Denise wondered when she’d decided to crop her hair so severely and wondered whether Diane would like the compliment that would, under better circumstances, have spilled from her mouth. But under better circumstances, they wouldn’t have even seen one another. 

That was the thing about her and Diane. They only ever spoke when shit went wrong. And shit had definitely gone wrong here. A lot of it. So much that when Denise’s instincts told her to return to Twin Peaks, she wasn’t even surprised at the bad news Sheriff Truman had delivered to her, hollow-toned and hollow-eyed, when she’d asked where Coop was. There was something there, something Denise could have pinned down if she really wanted to.

She did not want to; it was none of her business.

But Coop was gone and that was more than enough to occupy her attention.

And Coop being gone was reason enough to call Diane.

Even if her first words to him were, “Fuck you, Dennis.”

“It’s Denise now,” she’d replied, a smile in her voice. This, at least, was familiar, this refrain of Diane’s. She sometimes wondered how Coop, so polite and straight-laced in comparison, handled it, if he admonished her for the filth in her mouth or if, just maybe, he enjoyed it. If anyone deserved to swear a bit, it was Coop, even if he never let himself do it. The next best thing was probably a professional relationship with Diane Evans.

When all Diane had said was, “Fuck you, Denise,” she knew it would be fine, that they’d figure this out together, even if Diane didn’t like her much, though that feeling wasn’t mutual in the slightest. “Where the fuck are you, anyway?”

She’d given Diane the name of the town and the Great Northern’s phone number and waited maybe half a day for the call stating she’d need a ride out of Spokane International. Denise was there another half a day later, her staid navy Crown Vic at the ready.

A sneer had twitched at the corner of Diane’s mouth at the sight of it.

“We can’t all run those sleek black Continentals, dear,” she’d said, opening Diane’s door for her and offering a wink and a grin, too. Sure, the DEA wasn’t as sexy as the FBI, but Denise made do. Had a flair for it; in fact, she was happy. Maybe one day she’d find out what all this FBI fuss was about though. It’d been fun splashing in those waters, Coop at her side.

Diane had snorted at her purposeful provocation, ducking into the car, and flicked the ash from her cigarette just enough outside of the ashtray for Denise to know she’d done it on purpose. “You think I care about the car?”

“No,” Denise had answered, honestly. “And you’ll care even less for the town, I think, but it has its charms.”

And now one of those charms were cupped between Diane’s hands, her mint-pink-orange nails tapping against the glass as it leaked onto the table. She didn’t seem to mind. It was maybe the first thing she hadn’t minded since arriving. Or at least it was the first thing Diane hadn’t commented upon unhappily. Strange, because the more Denise thought about it, the more she believed it was vodka that Diane favored and not whiskey. 

Whoops.

Diane’s breath caught, was sucked into her lungs as selfishly as she dragged in the smoke and nicotine of her cigarettes. “What the hell happened out here, Denise?”

The ice in Denise’s glass clinked and circled as she swirled its contents. Thoughtful, she swallowed back the majority of the liquor it kept chilled. “I thought you might know something. Coop’s tapes and all.”

Shaking her head, Diane thinned her lips. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “He never sent them back. I guess he didn’t have time before—he’s really gone?”

“Well, darling, he’s sure not here anymore. I suppose he could have up and left the place, but he loves it here. And from what I’ve been told…” She’d only talked a bit to Truman and the others. Their reports were scattered and nonsensical, but Denise had been here long enough to know that probably only meant those reports were accurate.

“Shouldn’t you know? You’ve seen him more recently than I have.”

Denise’s lipstick, grown tacky with wear, tugged at her lips as she pursed them and then opened them again. “You’re right, I have. But there was nothing out of the ordinary about him when I saw him. Nothing that would explain this.”

“Same old Cooper?” Diane asked, softening, fond in the way she only ever got about Coop. Denise knew the feeling. Most people, in fact, probably did. That was just who Coop was. It had certainly worked on Sheriff Truman and even on people as curmudgeonly as Albert Rosenfield and that man was a tough nut to crack.

Looking around, Diane finally lifted her glass and sipped, slow and unhappy. Her eyes tracked gracefully around the room and toward the ceiling, somehow both casual and intent. She would have made a good FBI agent herself.

“Same old Cooper.”

Diane nodded as though she expected this, wouldn’t have listened to anything else come out of Denise’s mouth.

Picking up her glass in turn, mere dregs in the bottom, Denise clinked it against Diane’s. “So. You maybe want to help me figure it out?”

“I flew all the way from Philadelphia to fucking _Spokane_ ,” Diane replied. “What in the hell do you think?”

Denise pushed herself to her feet and clapped Diane on the shoulder. “I think this calls for another round.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Vodka, maybe.”

“Vodka, definitely. And the good shit this time.”

That was absolutely the least Denise could do. And so she did it.

And then they got to work.


End file.
